He craves empty bottles, she craves to fill me
In chains and delusions they don't want to be free
And every Sunday, like church, they're down on their knees
To each other, a god the other can't please

----
1. no beauty

was it beautiful?
like sitting at a desk
riddled with indents from
keeping the scissors away from skin
rocking back and forth
with only one thing circling
through an addled mind
the overwhelming urge to die
feeling ready to write that final
chapter on a life barely lived

was it beautiful?
forty pills that seemed like
enough at the time
choked down with soda water
and so many built up tears
feeling the rot of depression
absorbing the medicine that was
supposed to make things better
*******

was it beautiful?
regretting waking up hours later
younger sibling in the next room
noticing the stumble
the swearing that came from
feeling organs clench and shatter
but nothing coming up

was it beautiful?
admitting to taking so many pills
tongue feeling shredded by the words
being asked to stay awake
but only feeling so much anger
at having failed
at waking up again
at still being alive

was it beautiful?
three psych wards
every time a voluntary check in
unable to stay safe
healing scars
bashing limbs against every hard surface
ripping open old wounds
both inside and out
there is nothing beautiful
in self destruction

2. no romance

was it romantic?
hospital beds and an iv
in the back of a shaking hand
monitored bathroom breaks
too many to count while a body
too young to feel so old
purged itself of so many toxins

was it romantic?
fingernails chewed down to nothing
ragged cuticles
raw and ****** knuckles
because those hurt just a little bit less
than constantly pulling open
scabbed over splits in
gnawed on lips

was it romantic?
looking for love to give to others
not leaving enough behind to keep
not caring about that
too busy wanting to go home
please fix this
make the hurt go away
make everything shiny and new again

was it romantic?
unable to find respite
from the mental onslaught
in the unmarred arms of another
because illness and depression
do not care about
kissing scars to heal them
or boxes of chocolate
or roses
or whispered “i love you”s
because life is not a
teen romance novel

was it romantic?
wanting to die
even while sitting next to
that person that made things
not hurt so bad
and feeling guilty about fresh cuts
fresh bruises
burn marks that could be explained
away as accidents

was it romantic?
mass media certainly seems to think so
here’s looking at you
john green and jay asher
because why should people have
struggles if they can’t be candy-coated
and wrapped up in neat little bows
with complementary
packets of tissues on the side

was it romantic?
smelling of blood
and sweat from so many nightmares and terrors
trembling and shaking
racked by guilt and anxiety
waiting for an ulcer
waiting for something to happen
to make it seem worthwhile
because in mental illness and trauma
there is no prince
no princess
no damsel in distress
no disney movie happy ending
there is no romance
in wanting
to constantly die

Today she wrapped her arms around her fear, and she thanked it

Yesterday, as she lay in bed, and during a new meditation she'd found, she was reminded of her fear.
This fear, is of not being good enough for people to love.

She craves for love, like many of us do.
A lost but familiar drug.
It haunts her, yet she is unable to fully accept it when it appears.

To the outside, all looks great.
She has a new man, or a new friend.
And immediately, crashing waves of love, she hurls at these people.

She pushes them way up high, and fills them with pressure.
The pressure of healing her.
Of gathering up her pieces and gluing her together with their love.

There is a pattern. It's rooted as deep as the memories of an old spirited tree. A tree rooted over too many years. Struggling to stand with the knowledge embedded within itself.

Then once again, she meets someone. And she falls in love ❤️

Her ego dances with joy. Her heart somersaults in ecstasy.
Her fear is gone? Or so she feels. And all in her magic kingdom is beautiful again.
The grey walls of her life are a dazzling bright white. And she is free.
This person she then fills with her desperate love, her hopes and dreams, and her need to quieten the fear, until they can't breathe, bursting at their seams.

This 'filling up' of people, wears them down. The relationship rips at the edges. She senses this and her fear applies more pressure within this filling up.
The torn seams become gaping black holes.
And she has lost.

The pattern needs to be broken.
The fear wants her to hear it, to take notice. And so it sends her love after love followed by rejection after rejection.
Until she hears it banging on her soul.

So she is teaching herself to love this fear. To read it as an old book and to learn from its pages.
As each time her heart is broken, rejected. It is fear teaching her that she doesn't yet love herself fully.

The heartache is there to remind her that there is still much work to be done.
That there has to be this darkness, to let the light in.
That trying to hide from the pain, resenting it, or getting angry with it. Does not serve her.

She will have love; she will find her magic and she will let in the light.

Today she wrapped her arms around her fear, and she thanked it.

Love is the answer ❤

I am an alcoholic
Drunk on you
Sober 52 minutes and counting;
Down to the next glass.
You're bad for me,
But I keep swallowing the burn
And I crave you after a long day
After a hard day
After a good day
With every meal
And for every celebration
And to spend those rock bottom moments
On the rocks with you
But the ***** is
You're my whiskey and coke
And you leave me there, with only
My loneliness left down to choke.

All my life,
I have been good.
Ive always stayed out of trouble,
always done my homework,
never cheated,
never lied,
and always stayed away from drugs.

But what if you are the drug that I cannot resist?
What if I crave you too much
and I just can't stop?
What if its too late now
and theres no turning back?

I know its too late.
You're in my bloodstream.
You have those eyes--
those eyes that make the wisest souls foolish
and the strongest ones weak.

I'm addicted now
I cannot quit you.
I am utterly addicted to your soul
and there is no rehab for that.

I watched you fade away,
At a quicker pace
Than the bruises you left, on my body.

You're looking at this poem,
Thinking I'm lonesome,

Or perhaps you're thinking I'm in love,
Though truly, I'm free as an uncaged dove.

Then why would I say I'm loving someone?
Truly, I'm writing this for you lovers, or just anyone.

My heart's been cold and dry for a while,
So this won't make me smile,

But here's hoping you'll give your heart a test-run,
Maybe find a loved one.

Have more success than I ever will,
Tell someone you'll love them even if the world ends, still.

Find a place in their heart,
Swear you'll never be apart.

Never let go of their hand,
As if your wrists are bound, you're sinking in your love's quicksand.

A brilliant drowning,
Minutes you'll never be counting.

You won't give up; promise me that,
Though writers are heartbroken, give your heart a door mat.

Let someone in the door,
You'll never need anything more.

he said.

But please - if this is true - PLEASE tell me
WHY:

Do I hear your gentle hum in place of cricket melodies on warm nights that smell like summer?

I can feel your unspoken doubts and worries carve away at MY bones.

Does your face lights up when you see me, as if to say "Darling, I'm so glad I'm home!" Your gray sweater smells like that too.

I can't find a way to say goodbye to you. It isn't in my vocabulary. OUR words only know presence and adoration.


If your soul wasn't made for mine, who is going to hold your heart among the stars when the Earth is shattering beneath you.
I'm sure you could find someone else to,
But I know you'll be buried under ashes and rubble before you get around to it.

If your soul wasn't made for mine...
why did it tell me it was?